Disjecta Membra
by Capt-Facepalm
Summary: Canon Sherlock Holmes. A collection of drabbles which will be updated sporadically. Mainly Watson-centric, some h/c, some angst, some crack. No slash. Current entry: This entry is a bit lighter than the last. A bit of banter.
1. Sparse Cover

July 27, 1880

I captured the pack horse as ordered while he went for the injured gunner. Now he's disappeared, swallowed by dust and smoke.

Shots! Sounds like his Webley… the nullah to the east!

Two bodies? Local women out for an evil gleaning. Serves them right.

Snipers everywhere. Blood trail leading to... There he is, wounded, cornered; too weak to even raise his revolver.

He gives me that stupid Watson grin, but this time without an accompanying smart remark. Another bullet whistles through the air… getting closer.

If we make it out of here alive, I swear I'm going to kill him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>For the prompt: <em>Describe Watson injury, from a different Point Of View than Holmes<em>. I chose Murray.


	2. Miasma

London  
>1886<p>

Dr Watson was not one given to panic. When his pursuers expected him to run, he instead went to ground, emerging only after they had finally cleared off.

The night was turning to rain but his luck held. There, by the lamp-post, stood a police constable. He grinned as he approached.

'Doctor, I've been waiting for you.'

_Waiting? Surely not_, Watson thought. _Something's wrong._

Before he could react, he was seized and a handkerchief infused with the sickening stench of mouldy flowers was clamped over his face by an iron grip. His struggle was as frantic as it was brief.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>For the prompt: use the following words... <em>rain, lamp-post, handkerchief, flowers<em>


	3. Duty's Siren Call

Late October 1918  
>Calais<p>

John Watson would not be returning to England as planned. With heavy heart he penned his apologies. How could he accept early discharge when there was so much to be done? Who would stabilise those remaining patients for evacuation, oversee the demobilisation of his field hospital, or see to his men?

As the ship filled with the last of the invalids, he handed the envelope to a pale young soldier.

'Please give this to my friend. He was expecting me.'

Hoisting his duffle, Watson turned his back to the ship. Holmes would be furious, but at least he would understand.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>This drabble was in response to a prompt which was a poem about a <em>hospital ship<em>. I chose the time setting of Watson's service in WWI.


	4. Bonny Johnny:  The Pride of Blackheath

September 1881  
>221B Baker Street <p>

'Happy Blackheath Day, Watson!' three men exclaimed as they burst through the door, startling the inhabitants.

Watson's astonishment turned to delight with the recognition of his old rugby mates.

'We heard you were back in London! We're taking you to the pub tonight and you're not returning sober!'

'Today we commemorate our club's victory against the Welsh National side…'

' …And the subsequent brawl!'

'He may not have started it, but Johnny certainly ended it!'

''Tis more of a celebration than a holiday,' one confided.

'Clearly,' Holmes replied as they pulled Watson from his armchair and marched him out the door. 

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>For the prompt: <em>Celebration of a non-British holiday (legitimate or not)<em>. I chose _'or not'._


	5. Disjecta Membra

July 1881  
>Baker Street <p>

'You've been to war, Doctor. In comparison, finishing your personal account should be an easy task.'

Battle diaries were compulsory from serving officers. Watson's memoir was long overdue and his reticence now jeopardised his pension.

'Tell them what they want to hear,' Holmes urged. 'It's not worth the pain it's causing you.'

Watson, appalled at the suggestion, redoubled his efforts. The writing desk lamp burned night after night; his endeavours disturbing the ghosts he thought put to rest.

The right words would not come. Crumpled foolscap surrounded him like so many casualties.

Sometimes, the pen was heavier than the sword.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>For the prompt: <em>"If actions speak louder than words, how is the pen mightier than the sword?"<em>


	6. Something Completely Different

October 1895  
>Baker Street <p>

'Holmes, where have you been?' Dr Watson demanded.

'Really, Doctor, you are still feverish. I had to leave you here,'

'How long have you been gone?'

'I realise you are frustrated at being ill, but I didn't expect this kind of _Spanish Inquisition!_'

Three men, resplendent in their scarlet robes burst into the room.

'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!' they exclaimed.

While Cardinals Ximénez and Fang interrogated the detective, Cardinal Biggles gently took Watson's elbow and guided him back into the sitting room.

'Doctor, your fever is raging. Have a seat in the comfy chair.'

'No! Not the comfy chair!'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt: _Wacky, off-the-wall crossover - the weirder, the better._ So, it can be taken as a cross-over, an alternate universe, or a very, very bad fever!


	7. Rising

April 1882  
>(A dubious London boxing club) <p>

'_Failure is not in falling down, but in staying down_.' John Watson had been taught this principle at an early age.

This attitude, coupled with innate stubbornness, and tempered by life's harsh trials, gave Watson an unexpected resilience, which in turn confounded his opponents, and troubled his closest friends.

'You've had enough, Doctor,' his boxing trainer said, 'Give it up for today.'

_Why not, just this once?_ He wondered, dizzy with pain and exhaustion.

Because someday he would be unable to rally. Someday. But not today.

Wiping blood from his mouth he struggled to his feet for one more round.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> for the prompt _'falling'_.


	8. No Rest for the Weary

**Author's Notes:** A vignette from Watson's WWI Service. Historical accuracy optional.

* * *

><p>April 15, 1917<br>Field Hospital 15  
>France (location classified)<p>

'It's coffee, Sir. You look like you could use some.'

Major Watson looked suspiciously at the battered enamel cup. Had they not run out of rations days ago? Over-worked and under-supplied, his staff were doing their best to keep their field hospital functioning. Waves of injured and dying flooded in from the latest offensive.

Everyone was pushed beyond their capacities. Morale was abysmal. Cold and damp made matters so much worse.

Watson blew away the steam and took a tentative sip.

'Thank you, Corporal. This is the best coffee I've ever tasted.'

The soldier beamed at his commander's obvious lie.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt: _Stress/exhaustion or stress management_


	9. The Eighth Body

**Author's Notes: **Dialogue fic with Holmes and Lestrade

* * *

><p>Baker Street<br>Midnight, August 1881

'I'll go wake the Doctor, shall I?'

'Erm… It's very late, Mr Holmes, if it's all the same, perhaps you should leave him this time. I mean, if he's sleeping and all.'

'What has gotten into you, Lestrade? Dr Watson is far more competent than that fool, Langer. A drunken police surgeon is of no use in major cases.'

'I agree, but it's getting very ugly. Our fiend is escalating. This latest victim… it's indescribable. I wouldn't let my newest constables near it. Even veteran detectives were shocked.'

'Watson has seen worse.'

'Perhaps, but he doesn't need to see more.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt: _midnight summons_


	10. A Tail of the Trenches

**Author's Notes:** Just a thank you to everyone who reads these drabbles and especially to those to give feedback!

* * *

><p>March 29, 1917<br>Field Hospital 15  
>France (location classified)<p>

It was well past midnight when Major John Watson completed his rounds and retired to his cot behind the canvas flap.

He snuffed out the candle and Morpheus took him back to Baker Street where Mrs Hudson's ginger tom kept him company on sleepless nights. Such soft fur… curious twitching whiskers… and worm-like tail?

'GAAAAAH!'

Watson's scream reverberated throughout the tunnels. Two soldiers burst through the curtain, guns drawn. They laughed as the culprit scampered away.

'Major! It's all right! 'T'was just a little trencher rat!'

'Blimey! A shriek like that, you'd think it was the Giant Rat of Sumatra!'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt: _Kitten (or another equally fuzzy animal)_


	11. Man's Best Friend

London  
>1886<p>

John Watson woke trussed and weak. Upon regaining consciousness he retched until he could hardly breathe. Blasted chloroform always affected him so. His arms were so tightly pinioned behind his back it caused his bad shoulder to throb.

For hours he lay there, cold from the damp stone floor seeping into his very being. His weak calls for help remained unanswered.

Suddenly there was an inquisitive snuffling in the room.

A cold, wet nose and a whiskery muzzle nudged him insistently. A warm tongue washed his face.

Good old Toby! If he were here, Holmes could not be far behind.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: Another response for the prompt: _Kitten (or another equally fuzzy animal)_ and apologies to those who did not appreciate the fuzzy animal in the previous chapter (A Tail of the Trenches).

This can be read this as a conclusion to the situation which began in Chapter 2 (Miasma).


	12. Humble to a Fault

Baker Street  
>September 1883 <p>

'I like a friend the better for having faults that one can talk about.'

'What the devil are you going on about, Holmes?'

'You, Doctor! Lestrade and Bradstreet were listing off my… ahem… less than admirable qualities and lamenting your absence today.'

'They missed me? How extraordinary!'

'They seem to think you walk on water.'

'Not since they fished me out of the Thames, I'll wager.'

'They don't believe you to have any flaws.'

'How about my obsessive contemplation of murdering my flatmate and his wretched violin?'

'I'm afraid, my dear fellow, they would only count that in your favour.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt (the quotation): _'I like a friend the better for having faults that one can talk about.'_


	13. Good Luck Charm

February 26, 1885  
>Riverside District<br>London 

Sherlock Holmes had been missing for thirteen days. Police inquiries lead nowhere. Through unofficial channels, Watson let the criminal element know that there was good money for valid information.

That led him to this cellar. He found Holmes beaten to a bloody pulp, and the unsuspecting abductors still upstairs.

'Watson,' the detective slurred, 'I've had the most unfortunate run of bad luck.'

Seeing his friend in pain sickened and enraged the ordinarily gentle doctor. Such injuries! It was a wonder Holmes still breathed.

'Not to worry, old boy,' gritted Watson, patting his loaded Webley. 'I've brought my good luck charm.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> For the prompt: _Superstition (lack thereof, consequences thereof, or whatever)_


	14. Early Winter Chill

London  
>1884<p>

Dr Watson was limping again. It was barely noticeable at first, but as winter approached and the wind became colder, the limp and the doctor's mood worsened.

Sherlock Holmes observed his friend, thinking of ways to lend assistance. If there were pain-relievers, the doctor was certainly already aware of them. If Watson should revert to using his cane, Holmes dared not advise him so. Giving up casework was unthinkable; the doctor's pride would never tolerate that.

Holmes would say nothing, shortening his stride ever so slightly.

Sometimes, in order to help, the best thing was to do nothing at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For the prompt: _TLC. Meaning TLC for Watson, not given by._


	15. Peshawar

**Author's Notes: ** This fic attempts to fix a flaw in canon. Doyle did not realise the true distances involved when he wrote of Watson's Maiwand experience. Evacuation to Peshawar would have been impossible. Historical inaccuracies still persist. Dr Brandiss is a figment of my imagination.

* * *

><p>January 1882<br>Baker Street

'Peshawar? Goodness no, we were evacuated to Kabul.'

'Didn't you contract typhoid in Peshawar?'

'Yes, but that was later. Where possible, those wounded at Maiwand were evacuated to Kabul. The severe cases remained in Khandahar and were besieged with the remaining forces. My commander thought it best to evacuate me, against my wishes.

'They fixed my leg in Kabul but sent me on to a specialist, Dr Brandiss in Peshawar, for the delicate surgery on my shoulder. Brandiss was drunk and botched the job, I'm afraid. Then the fever took me…'

'...Watson?'

'I'm sorry… I really should be more grateful.'


	16. A Study in Observation

**Setting:** Holmes and Watson in their sitting room.

* * *

><p>'You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room.'<p>

'Frequently.'

'How often?'

'Well, some hundreds of times.'

'Then how many are there?'

'How many? I don't know.'

'Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because... What is it, Watson? Why are you sniggering?"

'There are eighteen steps.'

'Impossible! You just said…'

'Or perhaps sixteen. Trust me, a man with a limp knows even numbers.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> The prompt was to _'change something in canon'_. Most of this dialogue was lifted directly from SCAN. This was written for all those fan authors (Me included!) who feel the need to quote the number of stairs just to impress people with our awesome canon skillz.


	17. Tis Better to Give

**Prompt:**_ The villain shocks everybody by doing one completely selfless thing._

* * *

><p>In a valiant attempt to make the transition from naughty to nice this year, Professor Moriarty compiles his Christmas gift list...<p>

.oOOo.

**King of Bohemia:** Irene Adler's portrait as an odalisque

**Sebastian Moran:** A new rifle (experimental prototype)

**Sherlock Holmes:** Three phials 8% cocaine and water

**Mycroft Holmes:** Imported Chocolate Gateau

**John Watson:** Season pass for two to Blackheath Rugby

**Mrs Hudson:** Two week holiday voucher at The Grande Hotel in Brighton

**Baker Street Irregulars:** Extract of Imodium (one dozen doses)

**Jonathan Small:** Miss Mary Morston's address

**Grimesby Roylott:** _Treatise upon the Care of Indo-Asian Swamp Adders_

**Jack Stapleton**: a puppy

* * *

><p><em>Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone!<em>


	18. The Barrington Blaze

Baker Street  
>June 24, 1884 <p>

'Inspector Jones, to what do I owe the honour?'

'It's not you I seek, Mr Holmes. Where is Dr Watson?'

'At his club, I presume. What do you want with him?'

'There's been a fire at the Barrington workhouse. It's arson without a doubt.'

'And you suspect Watson!?'

'Witnesses claim that he threatened the shop foreman!'

'Of course he did! The conditions he found there were appalling. He registered a formal complaint. An official inquest is already under way. Were there any casualties?'

'Yes. Twenty-one unfortunate women and children were trapped inside.'

'Really? Innocent victims, and you still suspect Watson?'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

The prompt for this drabble was a picture of a burning building, fully engulfed in flames.


	19. The Murillo Folio

The Murillo private estate  
>May 1894<p>

Murillo examined the papers and found them intact. With profound gratitude the ex-presidente shook Holmes by the hand.

'Gracias, Señor Holmes. You have saved my reputation, and likely my life.'

Standing nearby, Dr Watson kept his revolver trained upon the spy and would-be assassin, who glowered malevolently from the floor.

'That was a close call, Holmes. Our recent cases have an increasingly dangerous element. We need a reprieve.'

'And we shall have it! Our next case promises to be trivial, tedious, and danger-free. I have been asked to look into some odd doings concerning a steamship whose name escapes me.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

The prompt for this drabble was the name of the steamship.  
>(Hint: NORW)<p> 


	20. Good Reasons

**Author's Notes:** (Usually I don't require warnings... )  
>Derogatory name use in historical context.<br>Historical accuracy optional

* * *

><p>July 27, 1916<br>Field Hospital 15  
>France (location classified) <p>

'Sergeant, I need you to remain very calm and find Smitty or someone else who speaks German.'

'Major Watson! Where did _Fritzie _here get that knife?!'

'It hardly matters now. Just follow my orders.'

'He cannot hide behind you. I can get a clear shot!'

'Not before he slits my throat. Please… put your gun away.'

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot him dead right now!'

'I'll give you three… One; he's badly wounded.'

'So what! He's the enemy!'

'Two; he's very young, and very scared—'

'That's no reason for—'

'—And three; he also has a grenade.'

* * *

><p><strong>More Author's Notes:<strong>  
>The prompt for this chapter was to tell a story only using dialogue.<p> 


	21. Early Hours

**Author's Note:**  
>(Yes, this is a drabble)<p>

* * *

><p>I cannot lie in my cold bed<br>With nightmares swirling in my head

Instead I put my clothing on  
>And walk towards a distant dawn<p>

Sightless windows watch me pass  
>Beneath the light from shuddering gas<p>

Down here the shadows cast are real  
>To sight, to sound, to smell, and feel<br>Facing such dangers I have steel

Should they attack I shall not resist  
>To fight them off with stick and fist<p>

But only shadows they may be  
>And not an actual threat to me<p>

When sleep brings naught but ghastly fright  
>'Tis better to walk the streets at night<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>The prompt for this drabble was Frost's Poem: <em>Acquainted With the Night<em>  
>(Poetry and I have a strained but cordial relationship.) <p>


	22. James Windibank

Baker Street  
>1887 <p>

'Lashes from my riding crop would mean nothing. Men like Windibank eventually get what they deserve.'

'I hope so.'

'Watson, it puzzles me that although all the evidence led away from Mr Angel, you suspected fraud from the start.'

'It's a pity Miss Sutherland didn't see the deceit.'

'How could she possibly?'

'Well, there was his name, or rather, his chosen alias.'

'Whatever do you mean?'

'It's an anagram… 'Hosmer Angel'… 'He's A Mongrel'. Mr Windibank had a cruel sense of humour. I bet he thought he was being clever, thinking his step-daughter was only suited to marry a dog.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>The prompt for this drabble was to change or add something to the ending of a canon story.<br>I chose _A Case of Identity._


	23. Epping Forest

Epping Forest  
>1895 <p>

The lantern's beam of yellow light was dim and woefully inadequate for the task at hand. He stripped off his jacket and laid it across his friend's chest.

The injured man lay very still and uttered not a sound. His white-knuckled grasp of tufts of grass indicated his pain, but the look in his eyes spoke ultimately of trust.

Having to blindly fish among his own possessions he found the small red phial and a hypodermic needle which he positioned beside the suture kit.

'Doctors make the worst patients,' he grimaced.

'And detectives make the worst doctors,' his patient replied.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> The prompt called for the use of four or five of the following words: _Red, lantern, grass, fish, needle_  
>The challenge is always to write something coherent where the mandatory words do not stick out.<p> 


	24. The Tin Mines of Dartmoor

**Authors Note:** Dialogue fic.

* * *

><p>Dartmoor<br>Autumn 1889

'That, Doctor Watson, is one of the many abandoned tin mines that dot the moor.'

'Have you explored it?'

'Yes, in fact this one has some very interesting features. You're not nervous of being underground, are you?'

'No, not at all.'

'Excellent! I happen to have some candles.'

'Ha-ha!'

'What's so funny?'

'Oh, just the thought of how quickly Sherlock Holmes would drop all his cases in London and fly here if something were to happen to me.'

'Would he really do that?'

'Indeed. He'd make Dartmoor his obsession.'

'On second thought, perhaps this is not such a good idea.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>The prompt for this was a picture of an opening into a cave.<p> 


	25. Another Late Morning

**Author's Note:** Dialogue between Holmes and Lestrade

* * *

><p>Baker Street<br>December 1881

'Is that flatmate of yours supposed to be up by now?'

'The doctor does not keep regular hours, Inspector.'

'I've never seen him miss one of Mrs Hudson's breakfasts.'

'Help yourself to it. That hard boiled egg won't get any colder. If Watson cannot haul himself out of bed by 10:30, he has clearly forfeited.'

'You were out all night, dragging poor Watson all over town on one of your cases!'

'You say that like he was an unwilling participant.'

'Humour me, Holmes. Go check on him.'

'Fine'

'Is he awake?'

'No, the doctor is in need of a doctor!'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For the prompt: _"Is that (something) supposed to be (something)?"_


	26. Midnight Session

**Author's Note:** A séance

* * *

><p>London<br>1886

Madame Szyszko-Bohusz's sepulchre voice filled the séance chamber, 'Avenge me, Robert! Avenge my death!'

The spiritualist sprang back from the little table as Mr Telford landed a solid blow to Dr Watson's head, dazing him and knocking him from his chair. Telford lunged forward, unsheathing the sword from his walking-stick.

'You murdered my brother, and now you'll pay!'

'No! It wasn't like that! Please, listen to me!'

The blade cut through the air, twice, thrice, drawing blood each time.

'He trusted you and you betrayed him!' Telford cried, his onslaught fuelled by the vengeful spirit who shrieked for Watson's life-blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Prompt was for a chilling, thrilling, supernatural story _(and NO Scooby Doo)!_


	27. Midnight Session: Part II

**Author's Note: **Trick or treat!  
>(continued from the previous chapter... or not!)<p>

* * *

><p>London<br>1886

Quicker than Wiggins expected, the séance devolved from subdued mumbo-jumbo into chaos.

Suddenly, Watson was down, set upon by Telford. Wiggins heard the doctor's pleas but the swordsman was so enraged there was no reasoning with him.

At Wiggins' signal, the lights flared, a stone struck Telford down, and another youth seized the medium. Wiggins tore the veil from her face revealing instead the villainous Simon Aberfoyle.

'Very clever, Aberfoyle. If Watson dies, you will hang,' Wiggins promised as he checked Watson's pulse.

'Curses! I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddlesome children!'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>If you tell me that I cannot do Scooby Doo... there will be consequences.


	28. It's a Long Way to Portsmouth

**Author's Note:  
><strong>November is a time of remembrance, so this week's drabble concerns a young officer's return home after his service in Afghanistan.

* * *

><p>October 30, 1880<br>HMMS Orontes

The October gale must have held a personal grudge against the _Orontes_.

One man clung to the rail praying his insides would remain inside. Hard-won days of recuperation were undone with each pitch and roll.

The crewman had never seen a worse case of _mal-de-mer_. These situations were usually amusing, but this time the sufferer was a cripple from the war.

'Sorry, Sir, we're moving everybody below to ride out the storm.'

'No safe harbours then?'

'None 'til Portsmouth. With these winds, we're better off at sea.'

Too weak for his crutches, the young officer had to be carried inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>The prompt was to pick a season and write about a storm in that season. This drabble was originally written before Hurricane Sandy.<p> 


	29. Battened Down

**Author's Notes:  
><strong>This a continuation of the previous chapter.

* * *

><p>October 31, 1880<br>HMMS Orontes

The October gale raged on and the _Orontes_ remained at sea. Below decks, John Watson's misery was indescribable.

In two days, fifteen sick men can make close quarters unbearable with their heat, their stench, and their despair. The lucky ones swayed, suspended in hammocks. Others lay moaning in their berths. Too weak to move, Watson sat against the wall clutching a pail. Vomiting would be a relief if he were not already empty.

The ship's doctor never appeared and the sufferers no longer looked to Watson for help. What use would he be if he could not even help himself?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>For the prompt: <em>"Illness, in a location where little to no help is forthcoming."<em>


	30. The Tobacconist

William Bradley, upon hearing the jingle of the door bell, set his tea aside to steep. To his delight, one of his favourite customers awaited his assistance.

'Mr Holmes, I have been expecting you! I've prepared your usual order: one pound of the strongest shag, and half that amount in _Ship's._

'Thank you, Mr Bradley, but I'll be switching cigarettes for the _Ship's_this time.'

'Dr Watson's not better then?'

'No. Strong tobacco isn't calming his cough at all. He's requested something milder temporarily.'

'Perhaps these would suit?'

Holmes examined a cigarette with his rare expertise, and nodded in approval.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For the prompt: _Holmes' and Watson's friendship as observed from an Original Character point of view._


	31. Not Always Above Board

'Are you sure you want to move there?' Sherlock Holmes asked.

Dr Watson, his finger remaining on his rook, reconsidered his move. It was a perfectly logical and strategic one, yet his flatmate's remark made him question it. Perhaps the bishop instead? _Yes._ He moved the bishop forward.

'Checkmate in two, Watson!'

'But the rook—'

'—Was by far your better move.'

'Then why—'

'Remember this: in games of strategy, dear fellow, as in life, the play is not confined to the board. You are too trusting by far, and unscrupulous opponents will press their advantage every time.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> For the prompt: _"Games"_


	32. A Winter's Tail

'Nothing says contentment like a cat by a winter's hearth,' Sherlock Holmes gestured toward Mrs Hudson's ginger tom.

Dr Watson blanched as he responded.

'It was because of such a cat that I became a doctor.'

'No doubt, some sickly unfortunate stray?'

'Hardly! I was just a wee lad. The poor thing had been hurt in a fight and didn't bother to differentiate between me and his adversary.'

'And yet, you still became a doctor—'

'Fortunately, the kindly physician who bandaged my wounds assured me that I didn't have to become a veterinarian if I no longer wanted to.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

For the prompt: Pick one of the four seasons; winter, summer, spring, or fall. I chose winter (sort of).  
><em>(Corrected due to Grammar fail. Sigh.)<em>


	33. A Sound Like No Other

'Doctor, come quick! There's been a collision! Bring your revolver! A horse is down!'

They heard the poor beast's screams before the crowd parted to reveal a cab on its side. The horse lay straining in its harness, its terrible wound a death sentence.

Watson applied a calming hand as he squeezed the trigger, leaving the cabman weeping, inconsolable in his loss.

Holmes led his friend back to their flat.

'I shall never forget that horrible sound… Watson? You're trembling—'

'_That's_ what it was like.'

'What was?'

'Maiwand. You once asked, but I hadn't the words to describe it.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>  
>Thank you to those whom I have not been able to reply to.<br>Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!


	34. Weathered In

Because of the foul winter weather, Sherlock Holmes was holed up in Baker Street. And because he was missing a vital reagent, he could not perform the chemical test he wanted to. Therefore, it was well into the afternoon when he felt it necessary to focus his deductive reasoning on me, and my many perceived faults.

"Not faults, dear boy, just opportunities for improvement."

Fortunately, my aim was not one of them. The decorative cushion caught him flush in the face. Startled, he blinked for several seconds before adding my lack of a sense of humour to the growing list.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Grammar optional


End file.
